It's Not Like That
by thatwat
Summary: Arthur and Gilbert are sharing their flat with Arthur's obnoxious brother, Scott, for a few weeks. Although tolerant enough, Gilbert isn't exactly pleased with this; not only because of Scott's arrogant persona and mad ways...but also because of his growing interest in Arthur. PrUK, rated M for swearing, sex, and Scott.
1. Part One

A/N: Hey guys! This is the first fanfic I've ever put out there for the world, so I would appreciate comments, reviews, etc. I've been working on it for nearly a year now, and I'll continue to update it as I get furthur along. Warning: This is a yaoi fanfic, meaning male x male relationships. Of course, being Hetalia, what else would you expect...but if you don't like that kind of thing, turn back now. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Arthur glanced at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently as he hit the elevator button with vigour; and not for the first time since stepping into the lift. It was six on the dot, which meant he had only ten minutes' time to do as he pleased before going to pick up his lowly brother, Scott, from the airport by six-thirty. And he planned to enjoy his last chance of freedom, for there was no telling of the endless trouble Scott was bound to provide on his stay.

The elevator doors finally creaked shut and Arthur sighed, the twelve-floor journey to his flat the only thing slowing him now. After another two minutes, the elevator released him onto his level, and Arthur adjusted the bag of groceries in his arms—Gilbert always had him doing the shopping these days—before stepping into the hallway. He made his way to 514, with its chipped gold-plated numbers and blue paint, where he fumbled for his key to let himself in.

Gilbert had moved in nearly six months ago, and it would be a lie to say living with the man wasn't a hassle. He was arrogant, loud, and such a slob that Arthur often found himself on his hands and knees cleaning whatever mess the other man created, earning shameless teasing from him. It was obvious that Gilbert thought of Arthur as the woman in the relationship (which was why he was always stuck with annoying tasks like grocery shopping), and although this viewpoint generally irritated Arthur, he couldn't exactly deny it.

But as much of a pain as Gilbert was, Arthur had to admit he loved having the Prussian around. His humour and affection brought out the best in him, and the feelings they shared were unbreakable.

Arthur fought his way with the heavy door into the entryway of their flat, still struggling to balance the groceries. "Gilbert!" he called, nudging the door shut with his foot. "Come help me with the groceries!"

He waited several moments, expecting the other man to appear before him, arms outstretched and ready to serve. What a naive thought. Sighing, Arthur kicked off his shoes and hung his keys on the peg by the door, trudging into the kitchen and dropping the bag on the counter. He was about to holler for the other man again, then paused at the sound of soft snoring in the living room. A quirk on his lips, Arthur made his way to the couch, where Gilbert was caught in a deep sleep.

Arthur smiled to himself, taking a moment to admire his lover's pale features. His hair was tousled and his face was slack, and without the snide remarks on his tongue, he looked quite peaceful as he dozed. Then Arthur leaned over the back of the couch, careful not to topple over, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

It took Gilbert a moment to gain consciousness and realize his surroundings, but Arthur knew he'd woken when he felt the Prussian's soft kiss in return. Their lips moved together for several long minutes, and they finally broke apart to heavy breaths. The Prussian's red eyes met the Englishman's green ones.

"Welcome home," he greeted.

Arthur smiled, moving in for another kiss, when Gilbert grinned mischievously. Arthur paused to raise an eyebrow curiously, when Gilbert's hands came up around his shoulders and yanked, pulling him over the back of the couch and onto the Prussian's body.

Arthur grunted softly, nearly missing the couch and falling to the floor.

"That was unnecessary," he mumbled, sitting upright and regaining his balance, shifting his weight to settle on the Prussian's pelvis.

Smiling sleepily, Gilbert placed his hands on Arthur's chest, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt. Unlike Gilbert, who wore only a tank top and sweats, Arthur was still dressed in his button-down and tie, which the Prussian promptly removed. Arthur tugged the tank top over Gilbert's head, and they were both half-naked when he glanced down, meeting his eyes.

"You're so handsome," he noted, bending in to kiss him. Gilbert ran his fingers through Arthur's hair—pulling him closer—and smiled against his lips, allowing him access to his mouth. Arthur eagerly entered, feeling Gilbert's sharp canine against his tongue. He rotated his hips against the Prussian's, and they both shuddered in the pleasure of the feeling.

Their lips remained connected as Gilbert moved out from under Arthur, switching their positions so as to conquer the Englishman. He slid his fingers beneath Arthur's waistline, lightly trailing along the hem with one hand and holding him close with the other. Then he slipped just below his boxers, and Arthur caught his wrist.

"Not today," he said, regretfully glancing at the clock.

"It's been days, Ig," the other man argued, a slight whine in his tone.

"I know. But my brother's plane is due soon, and I need to pick him up."

Gilbert absently traced a finger along Arthur's forearm. "All the more reason to enjoy our privacy..." he mumbled, shifting his pelvis again and sending Arthur squirming beneath him.

"Gilbert," he warned, though his voice held none of the hardness he wanted.

Speaking of hardness...

Arthur sat up quickly, pushing Gilbert off of him. The Prussian hooked a finger through Arthur's belt loop, drawing him in for a parting kiss.

"I'll see you later," Arthur said, rising from the couch and collecting his abandoned clothes. "And please, try to behave yourself around Scott. He's kind of..."

"Uncomfortable about staying with us?" Gilbert guessed.

"Egotistical," Arthur corrected, slipping his arms into his shirt and beginning to button it. "Very opinionated. Sets off easily and sticks his nose in everything. Dresses like he's in the mafia or something."

Gilbert rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Mm...careful, Ig, you're making me interested."

Arthur paused mid-button, glancing up. "Exactly what I'm talking about," he said. "He's the kind of person to take what's not his, and I'd rather not have him chasing after you. Behave yourself so he doesn't get any ideas."

The Prussian chuckled, standing and kissing him once more. "Arthur, love," he said, moving his face to Arthur's hair and nuzzling him affectionately. "He can chase all he wants, but I'm not interested. You know I'm yours."

Slightly flustered, Arthur watched as Gilbert padded down the hallway and disappear into the bathroom, no doubt to take one of his hour-long showers. Sighing, Arthur moved to the door, fixing his tie and reaching for his jacket on his way out.

Off to retrieve the shameful other member of the United Kingdom family.


	2. Part Two

Scott Kirkland was not one to show up silently and without notice. No, when he made an entrance, no matter how important, it was nothing less than grand. Of course, you can only have a grand entrance granted all that leads up to it will go well. But when Scott's plane arrived and Scott didn't make a grand entrance—or an entrance at all—Arthur could only assume something had gone wrong.

"Excuse me," Arthur said to the woman behind the counter. "I'm looking for my brother. He was supposed to be on this flight."

She raised a thin eyebrow, turning to her computer and typing something in before asking for the passenger's name.

"Scott Kirkland."

She looked up from the screen, staring. "Kirkland? He's your brother?"

Arthur nodded slowly, not liking her expression. She watched him doubtingly for several seconds.

"He was escorted to security," she informed him. "He was caught smoking on the plane, and then restrained for..._distracting_ a flight attendant from her duties."

Arthur stared at her.

"Sorry...what?"

"Can I get your name, sir? You said he was your brother?" She didn't look pleased about this—like maybe she expected Arthur to try something just as scandalous as his brother—whatever it was he'd done.

"Arthur Kirkland," he said carefully.

She typed furiously away at the computer and muttered something to the man working beside her, then peered skeptically at Arthur and stepped out from behind the counter.

"Come with me, Mr. Kirkland," she said, walking off at a brisk pace. Arthur watched her for a moment, then grumbled and decided it probably wouldn't look good if he made a run for the exit now.

He followed her through the airport, past a set of security, and into a small—and highly guarded—room. Several men in uniforms surrounded a table, and they shifted aside when Arthur entered. Seated on the other side of the table, facing the door, was none other than Scott Kirkland, a plastic restraint around his wrists.

"'Bout time, Brit," he cheered, referring to his brother's title. He certainly didn't look like a man who was in serious trouble, what with his carefree slouch and self-centred attitude.

Arthur wished he wasn't related to him. He wished he didn't even know him. He just wanted to be at home with his Gilbert, snuggled against his warm body under a blanket. Reluctantly, he took a step forward.

"What did you _do_?" he muttered.

"Is that how ye greet yer big brother?" Scott mused, his accented voice annoyingly cheery.

"Smoking?" demanded Arthur. "And whatever else you managed to do?"

Scott chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Can't say that I regret it," he replied, leaning back in the chair. "She was a _fine_ lass, and god, did I make 'er wild."

Arthur choked on the air. "You had..._sex_ on an_ air plane_? With a _flight attendant_?"

"Why, Brit? Are ye jealous of yer brother? Last I heard, ye quite fancied in men, and while I'd say that's a wee bit kinky, there's enough of me to go 'round, if ye're interested."

Arthur made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. He turned to one of the guards who'd been pretending not to hear their conversation. "I don't actually have to bail him out, do I?"

The guard shrugged, his face sympathetic to the Englishman. "He's got no one else who will."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. He wanted so badly to punch that smile off his brother's face and leave him at the airport.

"Fine," he said, frustrated. "How much?"

* * *

Three-hundred and forty pounds later, Scott's wrist restraints had been cut and Arthur left the small room, at this point not caring if his brother followed. Unfortunately, he did.

"Arthur!" he called after him, jogging to catch up. Arthur stopped at a street corner outside the airport, ignoring Scott as he waved for a taxi. The redhead snagged his sleeve, turning him so they were face-to-face.

"What?" Arthur asked dryly.

"It's good to see ye," Scott said, grinning. "It's been so long."

"Not long enough," Arthur replied, turning away.

"Oh, c'mon, Brit," Scott prodded his side. "Ye missed me."

Arthur laughed dryly.

"Well, I missed me little brother," Scott continued, placing a hand on his head. Arthur took a step away, escaping his reach.

They stood in silence for several minutes. Eventually a taxi pulled up, and Arthur climbed in the back seat, crossing his arms and waiting for Scott to dump his luggage in the trunk. He told the driver the street address as Scott slipped into the seat beside him.

"Sooooo," Scott started, grinning.

Arthur looked at him, unamused.

"How've ye been, Brit?"

"Fine."

"Any new mates I should be knowin' about?" he asked gleefully, nudging Arthur with his elbow.

Arthur rubbed his temples. "How long are you staying, again?"

Scott shrugged. "Two weeks, at most," he replied. "I've just got a bit of business in town, and then I'll be on me way."

"Business?" Arthur asked. Scott worked in the nightclub industry, under a shady boss, who, it seemed to Arthur, was always deep in debt and looking for trouble.

Scott grinned. "I've been asked to help reason out a bit of a dispute. The manager of a big business here owes me boss a bit of money."

Arthur shook his head. "I'd better not have strippers or mobsters showing up at my door, twat. You keep your "business" away from me."

Scott lifted his palm in mock salute. "Aye. You'll barely know I'm here."

Arthur didn't believe him in the least.


	3. Part Three

Arthur wished Scott had friends. The kind of friends that take you in when you're a wandering soul, free to roam where you like. Because that's just what Scott was—a wandering soul. And he had friends, or so he claimed, but they were by no means the "you can stay at my place"-type. Which is how Arthur got stuck with him.

He would've told him to find an inn, but of course, Scott had an argument.

"Brit," he'd said on the phone. "I need to stay with ye. I can't afford anywhere else right now, what with me boss waist-deep in debt. I'm not making much nowadays."

Arthur had immediately turned him down. "I'm not putting you up while you blow whatever you have on alcohol and cigarettes."

"C'mon, little brother," he'd begged. "I'll stay out of yer way. I'll only be in town long enough to take care of some stuff, and then I'll be gone. I just need a place to sleep for a while. What else is family for?"

Arthur had been about to protest again, but he knew it was in vain. Scott always won.

"How long is long enough to "take care of some stuff"?" he asked.

"Oh, a week or so."

"Fine," he grumbled at last, mentally kicking himself for agreeing. "But no smoking inside. And don't you dare bring anyone home at night."

Of course, the second they were out of the taxi, Scott lit a cigarette.

Arthur glared at him, stopping outside the lobby doors. "Put it out."

Scott exhaled a breath of smoke. "But—"

"If you're staying under my roof, you're obeying my rules. It's prohibited inside, anyway."

Scott looked like he might argue again.

"Put it out," Arthur said again.

Scott lifted his cigarette, peering at it glumly.

"Sorry, lad," he told it. Then he dropped it to the ground and stomped it out with the heel of his shoe. "Acceptable?" he asked.

The Englishman would've preferred he pick it up and throw it away, but he took what he could get. He unlocked the doors and they made their way to the elevator, neither talking as they rode to the twelfth floor. Arthur led Scott down the hall to his apartment, where he reluctantly let his brother inside. He hung up his keys as Scott followed him in, glancing around the flat.

"Weillschmidt!" Arthur yelled down the hallway, nearly stumbling over a pile of clothes. He hoped Gilbert had decided to at least behave decently, since he apparently hadn't decided to clean.

"Kirkland!" a welcoming shout answered from the bathroom, where the shower water was just being shut off.

Arthur tossed his wallet on the kitchen counter, then eyed Scott untrustingly and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"You're in the spare room," Arthur said, turning back to his brother, who was otherwise engaged, peering down the hallway with a half-amused smile. He looked at Arthur curiously.

"Weillschmidt?" he asked.

Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah."

Scott leaned against the counter, crossing his ankles carelessly. "Ye never mentioned a Weillschmidt," he continued conversationally. "But it would appear ye _do_ still fancy men, then."

Arthur couldn't help his face reddening now. He opened his mouth to reply, but Scott was already gone, making his way down the hall.

"Scott!" he hissed. He knew his brother was only trying to embarrass him now, but for Gilbert's dignity, he prayed the Prussian was clothed.

Scott had stopped in front of the doorway, a sly grin on his face. Arthur grabbed his arm, trying to steer him back to the kitchen. Scott laughed, pushing back.

And then the bathroom door opened.

"Glad you're back, Ar—"

Gilbert trailed off, Arthur froze, and Scott chuckled. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, only the Prussian's lower half was covered by a towel, and honestly, it didn't hide much.

Gilbert's smile faded at the sight before him: Arthur, blushing, had his hands locked furiously around the forearm of a rather amused-looking redhead as he attempted to yank him back to wherever he'd come from. He wasn't succeeding, and Gilbert stared at the taller man with confusion.

Arthur was the first to speak. "Hey, Gilbert," he said, embarrassed. He couldn't pull his eyes away from his lover's bare body; his smooth, pale chest and slight muscles, the exposed skin above the towel that fell dangerously low on his hip.

Scott was also looking at Gilbert, though it was more to make them uncomfortable than for his own enjoyment.

"This is my...brother, Scott," Arthur said reluctantly, clearing his throat and releasing the Scotsman.

Gilbert exchanged a quick look with the redhead, nodding in mild greeting. He appeared to still be caught quite off-guard.

"Scott, this is Gilbert, my..er..." Arthur searched for the right word. Nothing seemed appropriate besides _lover_, but Arthur certainly wasn't going to describe the Prussian like that—especially not to his brother. "We're...uh.."

"We're together," Gilbert said stiffly.

Scott smirked, shaking his head. "There's really no need fer formality on me own behalf," he said. "_Fuck buddies _is a perfectly appropriate term, if that's what ye were worried about."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, surprised. Arthur made a strangled sound, gaping at his brother.

"I-it's not like that," he said defensively.

Scott only laughed.

Gilbert cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me," he said, slipping out of the bathroom. "I have to get changed now."

He crossed the hall to his and Arthur's room, deliberately avoiding eye-contact as he closed the door behind him.

Scott smirked at Arthur, opening his mouth to comment.

"Don't. Say. Anything," The Englishman growled, giving Scott a furious look as the redhead ambled back to the kitchen, palms up in defence and shaking with laughter.

_And enter the living nightmare_, Arthur thought to himself. _We've got a long two weeks ahead of us._


	4. Part Four

Not long after Scott had tossed his bags in the spare bedroom and made a point to complain about his hunger, Arthur realized he was expected to provide the food for his brother as well.

"Who does the meals around here anyway?" Scott wondered, glancing between the two men. He was perched on a stool on the other side of the counter, facing the kitchen from the living room. "Surely ye don't survive off of Arthur's cooking."

Arthur glared at him. "My cooking is _just fine_, you twat."

"But for the record," Gilbert said offhandedly, leaning against the granite countertop. "I make the food."

He was dressed now, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a grey band tee. His hair, still damp from his shower, spiked around his face, and he eyed Scott with a certain carefulness. He could be reasonable, but it was obvious he didn't trust the man.

Arthur turned on the Prussian. "Whose side are you on?" he snapped.

Gilbert blinked. "Relax, Ig," he said flatly.

"So what's on the menu, then?" Scott asked, thoughts still food-bound.

"I'll come up with something," Gilbert replied, watching Arthur. It was obvious that his brother infuriated him.

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "Scott, go take a shower. You reek of cigarettes. It's giving me a headache."

Scott shrugged easily, hopping down from the stool with a smirk. "A hot shower sounds just lovely," he said, heading down the hallway. "I'll let ye start on dinner."

He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door and starting the water. Gilbert exhaled.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to brush Arthur's arm. "You alright?"

Arthur laughed once, dryly. "Hardly."

Moving to stand before him, Gilbert placed a hand lightly on the Englishman's waist. Arthur looked up, sighing tiredly.

Gilbert leaned in, placing a kiss on the top of his head. "I suppose we should fix that then, hm?"

Arthur glanced away, eyes falling to the floor.

"You know I love you," Gilbert tried again, lifting Arthur's chin to look at him again.

"Even after I allowed the devil himself into our home?" he asked skeptically.

Gilbert kissed him lovingly, pulling him closer. "Let's not worry about that. It's just you and me right now," he breathed, wrapping his arms around the Brit.

Arthur allowed himself to be held, sighing as he kissed Gilbert again. His fingers came up to tangle through his damp hair, feeling his headache lessen at the Prussian's warm mouth. Their kisses became stronger as they breathed together, slowly losing themselves in one another.

Gilbert pressed Arthur against the counter's edge, his hands lowering to his thighs as he lifted him, setting him on the granite top. Arthur moaned quietly, pulling the other man closer. He felt Gilbert's chest against his stomach, every toned muscle only separated by their clothing. Gilbert made a low noise in his throat, a sound that sent a pleasant flare between the Englishman's legs. He wished the world would disappear, leaving them to only each other. Gilbert moved to Arthur's earlobe, gently tugging on it with his teeth.

Arthur dropped his head back in pleasure, breathing heavily. He felt the Prussian's lips reach his collarbone, kissing him hungrily. He shuddered as Gilbert hit that sensitive spot only he knew about—the area just at the base of his neck. Arthur whimpered again, cherishing every kiss, every touch.

Suddenly his head shot back up, his chin hitting Gilbert's face with such force he heard an audible _crack_.

Gilbert's hand flew to his nose and he groaned in pain, stumbling back. "Ahhg, what the hell was that for?"

"The shower stopped," Arthur gasped quickly, guilt heavy in his voice. "Scott will be out in a minute. God, Gilbert, come here, are you alright? I'm so sorry, love..." He hopped off the counter and reached for Gilbert gently, placing a hand on his cheek.

The Prussian gave a pained smile, wincing at the contact.

"Here, sit down, let me look at it," Arthur said, helping the man to a chair at the kitchen table. He knelt, tugging Gilbert's hand from where it cradled his nose protectively.

"Dammit, Arthur," Gilbert choked out, his voice thick. He was seconds from tears, and that plus his pained expression nearly set the Englishman into a fit of laughter. He bit his lip to stop from giggling. Gilbert's glared at him, eyes watering.

"I'm so, so sorry Gilbert," Arthur sympathized, trying to keep a straight face as he examined the Prussian's nose. It appeared just as crooked from every angle he tried.

Gilbert looked up at him. "It's broken, isn't it? _Mein gott_, you broke my nose!"

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched. He nodded slowly.

"_Dammit_, Arthur!"

"What's going on?"

Arthur whipped around to find his brother staring at him. "Uh.."

Scott's eyes fell on the Prussian, who was clutching his nose again.

"What happened?" he asked in—not concern, but puzzlement?

"Er, well..." Arthur started again, not exactly sure where to take this. "Gilbert was...standing on a chair..."

* * *

It was a quarter to midnight when the three men made their way back to the apartment, two of them half-dragging a rather unsteady Prussian by his arms.

"Okay, Gilbert," Arthur said, hauling his dead weight down the hallway. "Time to sleep now."

"Uhhg," Gilbert replied. His nose was bandaged beyond recognition, and with an alarming amount of pain medication in his system, his speech was extremely difficult to understand. The doctors had informed Arthur that although they'd straightened it as best they could, Gilbert's nose would forever have a distinct kink in it, and that the man must've fallen _extremely hard _to land such a nasty break. "He must've been standing on the _wobbly_ chair, tsk," Arthur had muttered in reply. "Really, a hazardous thing to do."

They now reached the end of the hallway and Arthur nudged the bedroom door open.

"I've got him," he told Scott, shifting his weight. "We'll see you in the morning."

He turned to pull Gilbert through the doorway, but the man was caught on something. Scott's hand, still holding his sleeve.

"You can let go," Arthur said again, giving another tug. "Really, I have him."

Scott lowered his hand slowly, meeting Arthur's eyes.

"How did he really break it?" he asked, eyebrow raised. "I could always tell ye what _I _think happened, but it may be a bit descriptive..."

Arthur blushed, shaking his head furiously. "Twat."

Scott winked, smirking.

Leaving his brother to his own thoughts, Arthur pulled Gilbert into the bedroom and shut the door behind them. Drawing back the covers, Arthur laid the Prussian on the bed and pulled his shoes off, leaving them on the floor where they landed. Sitting at the edge of the mattress, Arthur studied his lover's face.

"Okay Weillschmidt," he said, waiting until Gilbert turned his head to look at him blearily. "Am I undressing you, or are you going to do it yourself?"

Gilbert groaned. "Donnnn't...you _dare_...touchh...me...Kirkland," he warned, voice slurred. "You'll...only..ggh...break...ssooomething...else..."

Arthur laughed, rising from the bed. "Okay, love," he said, reaching over Gilbert's form to tug the blankets over him, then bending to place a kiss on the man's ruffled hair. Walking across the room, Arthur yanked his button-down off, fetching a white cotton shirt from the dresser. He undid his belt, slipping his pants off and dropping them in the hamper at the corner. He switched off the light on his way to the bed.

Arthur crawled under the sheets, settling close to Gilbert. He could feel the Prussian's breath on his face, and he reached for his hand.

"Let's try this again," Arthur murmured, leaning to place a kiss on his lips. He could feel Gilbert's slow reply, the gentle movement of his mouth.

"You'd...betterr..pray that...my..facee...ugh, looks...just as _beauuutiful_...as it used too," Gilbert muttered against the Englishman's lips. "Or there's...gonna...be some..._serrrious_ payback...sex...afterwards.."

"Is that a threat...or a promise?" Arthur's lips pulled up, and he kissed Gilbert once more.

"Mm...lemme...thinnk...about it."

"Goodnight, Gilbert."

Arthur rolled over, his fingers still twined between the Prussian's and a smile on his lips, one remaining long after he'd fallen asleep.


	5. Part Five

The morning brought several things. One, a rather startling wake-up-call by a certain pale-haired man as he proceeded to roll Arthur off the edge of the bed. The Englishman awoke to his face colliding with the floor, and he grunted, struggling into a sitting position.

"Gilbert?" he asked sleepily.

The Prussian had already relocated to the full-length mirror, where he was examining his face with a scrutinizing look.

"It's crooked!" he exclaimed. It took Arthur a moment to realize the statement was said in anger. "It's fucking crooked!"

Arthur stood up. "You're not supposed to take the bandages off yet..."

Gilbert whirled around. "Does this look crooked to you?" he demanded, moving to stand before Arthur.

"...It's just swollen."

Gilbert cried out in frustration, turning back to the mirror to stare at himself.

"Um. Gilbert," Arthur started. "Maybe you should go back to bed..."

With a glare from the man in question, Arthur closed his mouth.

The morning also brought Arthur's brother.

Stumbling out of the bedroom and down the hallway, the Englishman froze at the sight of someone in his living room. That someone had unmistakable red hair and was dressed only in fleece pajama pants, the same ones he'd received for Christmas three years ago.

"Scott?" Arthur said, stunned. "What the bloody hell are you doing in my flat?"

Scott peered over the newspaper in his hands. "What, are ye on painkillers too? I got here yesterday, Brit."

Arthur ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Shit," he swore, his memory returning to him.

"What's wrong with yer boy-toy?" Scott asked. "He's pretty loud this mornin'."

Arthur ignored him, wrinkling his nose. "Is something burning?"

Scott shrugged. "I'm making meself toast."

Arthur glanced into the kitchen, where a cloud of smoke was slowly rising from the stove top. "Agh!" he cried. "Why is the oven on?"

He rushed to turn it off, fanning the air with a towel and coughing. The fire alarms hadn't gone off yet, thank god.

Scott rose from the armchair he'd settled in, joining his brother in the kitchen.

"I may not be an expert on these kind of things," he said, watching Arthur with amusement. "But is it s'posed to be doing that?"

The smoke had gone down now, and Arthur ripped the oven door open. An unrecognizable object sat in the centre of the oven rack, charred and burnt. It certainly wasn't toast. Arthur grabbed a pair of tongs and removed it, holding it in front of Scott.

"What _is_ this?"

"I've no idea anymore.."

Arthur gave an exasperated noise, brushing past Scott and reaching for his keys. "I'm going out..." he said, shrugging his coat on.

"Where're ye going?"

"To get us something edible for breakfast," Arthur growled. "And don't you _dare_ try to make anything else!"

"Brit," Scott started.

"I'm serious," Arthur replied, yanking the door open. "Just don't touch anything!"

"_Brit_," Scott said again, reaching for his arm.

"What?" Arthur hissed, staring at him.

"Ye may want to put on some clothes."

The Englishman glanced down. He was still in his boxers.

"Oh."

* * *

Scott waited for his brother to throw on a pair of trousers and slam the door behind him before laughing to himself. The apartment had become quiet once more, and Scott remembered mildly that Arthur had left his Prussian behind. But why was he so quiet now...?

Curiosity getting the better of him—as it usually did in his case—Scott padded down the hallway to the other man's room. He stopped at the half-closed door, knocking lightly on the frame.

"Arthur?" he heard the Prussian call. "You back already?"

Scott pushed the door open, entering the room quietly. He lingered by the door, looking at Gilbert, who was staring at his own reflection in the mirror across the room. He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see Scott.

"Oh," Gilbert said, turning to face him. "It's you."

"Yeah," Scott replied, "Arthur's still out fetching breakfast."

"Did you need something?" Gilbert said, stuffing his hands in his sweatpants. Scott noticed he was still in yesterday's clothes.

"Ye put up with a lot for just being a one night stand," Scott said casually, gesturing to Gilbert's nose. "Or, a week night stand, I s'pose."

Gilbert was rather unamused at the Scotsman's presence, and he was well aware that the redhead was without a shirt. He wasn't keen on the man's topic choice, either.

"It's not like that," Gilbert said flatly.

Scott chuckled. "Then I assume ye're getting _something_ out of it besides the sex? Me brother can't be all that great, right? The man's frigid as a wall."

Gilbert opened his mouth to argue.

"So what is it?" Scott went on. "Money?"

"No. We're—"

"Booze?"

"No—"

"What else is there?" Scott interrupted again. He seemed genuinely confused.

"I love him," Gilbert blurted, his voice low.

Scott raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. "Is that so?"

Gilbert stared at him.

"Well then," Scott drawled on, starting toward the Prussian. "That's no fun."

At the Scotsman's advance, Gilbert backed up slowly, hitting the mirror behind him. Scott continued walking, stopping only when he was a foot away.

"I wonder..." Scott said, absently placing a finger on Gilbert's shoulder, drawing small circles with it. Gilbert stiffened, eyes narrowing. "I wonder if that's how ye really feel."

Gilbert gave the Scotsman an even look. "It is."

Scott continued to trail his index finger along Gilbert's shoulder. "I bet ye just get yer fill from him—satisfy yerself—and it's enough for ye to call it love. Fuck his brains out, watch him, helpless below ye...I could understand, though. I bet it's worth it when he screams yer name."

"No," Gilbert said, teeth clenched. He couldn't be sure where Scott was going with this. Even as he stood half-naked with the Prussian trapped before him, it seemed to Gilbert that Scott was...more interested in his brother. Like maybe he _wanted_ Arthur. "_It's not like that_."

A sly grin formed on the Scotsman's lips, and his fingers moved to Gilbert's chest. "But it is, isn't it? Unless ye're saying _he's_ the one on top."

Gilbert felt his face redden.

"I didn't think so," Scott said, gauging his reaction. "So what do ye make him do, then? Do ye tie him up? Blindfold him? No...ye look more like the type to force a blow job. Am I right, Gilbert?"

Gilbert felt his anger rise, and he shoved Scott away, hard.

"Don't talk about him like that," he growled.

Scott smiled. "Why not? It's true, isn't it?"

Gilbert took a step toward him, clenching his fist.

"And I bet that's how ye broke your nose, too. Doing something dirty, while I was gone for a moment. Tell me, Gilbert, does it feel good to screw me brother? Does Arthur make fer a good night?"

"Get out," Gilbert seethed. "Get the hell out."

Scott laughed.

Gilbert took another step, raising his fist. He would've hit the man, too, had the sound of the front door not interrupted him. Scott stared, grinning at the Prussian for another minute before turning and striding out of the bedroom, chuckling. A moment later, Arthur appeared in the doorway.

"Gilbert," he said, entering the room and pausing to lean on the dresser. "I brought you coffee, if you want it. And a doughnut."

Without warning, Gilbert grabbed the Englishman's shirt and yanked him close. He kissed him hard, ignoring the pain in his nose as it slammed against Arthur's. He came at him furiously, one kiss after another in a hungry, almost desperate frenzy. Finally he pulled back, breathing heavily.

"Wha—?" Arthur asked, dazed.

"I love you," Gilbert growled, locking eyes with him. He wanted Arthur to understand. He _needed_ Arthur to understand. "_I love you, _Arthur."

The Englishman stared at him, startled. "I love you too, Gilbert," he said. "More than anything."


	6. Part Six

The afternoon to follow was fairly uneventful, to which Arthur was grateful. Scott left to meet with someone about the money they apparently owed his boss, but not before scarfing down more than his share of pastries. Gilbert had been unusually quiet during their breakfast, but Arthur didn't pry about it, allowing the Prussian his space. After Scott's departure, they each had taken a shower—separately, as Arthur had insisted this morning. He didn't completely trust that he wouldn't hurt Gilbert again, and he certainly didn't want to irritate the injury the man already had. Gilbert had laughed at Arthur's argument, but he complied graciously.

After they'd both cleaned and changed, Arthur demanded that Gilbert put the bandages back on his nose. The Prussian grumbled as he padded down the hallway to the bedroom, returning minutes later with his nose re-wrapped and an unhappy expression on his face.

"Come here, love," Arthur said, chuckling at his appearance. As much as he found the whole situation hilarious, something inside him ached with sympathy at the sight Gilbert's discomfort.

The Prussian moved to join Arthur on the couch, resting against the cushions as Arthur moved to place his head on his chest. Gilbert set his chin on Arthur's head, inhaling deeply, despite his bandaged nose.

"How do you always smell so wonderful?" he murmured against the Englishman's hair.

"I just had a shower," Arthur reminded him, his form rising and falling at the other man's slow breathing.

Gilbert closed his eyes. "Mm, but even after a long day you still smell amazing."

Arthur blushed warmly, a reply too far out-of-reach to be struggled for. They said nothing for several minutes, enjoying the comfortable sleepiness settling around them. Arthur felt himself drift, his thoughts wandering.

"Remember when we first met?" Gilbert asked then, bringing him back to the present.

A quirk on his lips, Arthur nodded once. "Yes, why?"

Gilbert chucked. "I was just thinking about it," he said.

"It feels like we've known each other forever," Arthur replied. "But it's only been a little over a year."

The Prussian smiled. "And to think that it started as just a night out for drinks, after one of the world conferences."

"We couldn't stand each other," Arthur laughed.

"What happened?" Gilbert asked, amused.

Arthur snorted. "Alcohol."

"Of course," Gilbert smirked. "Always alcohol." He shifted just enough to place a kiss on the Englishman's lips, smiling. "It was a good thing for me that you can't hold your liquor."

Arthur scoffed. "I _can so_ hold my liquor!"

Gilbert only laughed.

* * *

It had been a cold night, late in August. The conference was held in New York, and the city was stunningly beautiful; the leaves had begun to change colour and the evenings were cool and clear. It had been decided after the conference that they would all go out for drinks, and so there they were, nearly everyone who'd been in attendance at the meeting—excluding a few plus Scott, because Scott never showed up to the meetings to begin with.

Arthur had been sitting with Alfred, Francis, and a quiet man who looked nearly identical to Alfred, although apparently he wasn't Alfred. Arthur had been too drunk to remember his actual name though. They'd been talking and laughing with two of the Nordic men, Emil and Lukas, and overall having a pleasant evening. And then Alfred suggested they play a game.

"Alright," he said, not exactly drunk, but far from sober. "See that guy over there?"

Arthur had given him a rather dumb stare, as did the other men at their table. The bar was large, and their group took up the vast majority of it. To figure out _which_ man Alfred was referring to would have taken the entire night, and although they probably would have searched for said man, they were too eager to find out _why_ Alfred had brought him up in the first place.

"Which guy would that be?" The blond-haired Nordic, Lukas, asked. Unbeknownst to him, he'd just started the game. Alfred laughed, slapping him on the back.

"The guy with gravity-defying hair," Alfred clarified.

Six pairs of eyes looked to the other side of the bar, where a very drunk Mathias Køhler was laughing and waving a half-empty glass around. He was from Denmark, and although Arthur knew little about the country, it was obvious that he enjoyed beer an awful lot.

"What about him?" Francis had asked cautiously.

Alfred laughed. "Dude," he had replied, "Lukas here is totally going to go over there and kiss him!"

The Norwegian blushed, shooting a glare at Alfred. "Wh-what?"

"You've totally been staring at him all night," Alfred said.

Lukas turned a brighter shade of red. "I have no—"

"Ohonhon~," Francis laughed, liking where this was headed. "But you have!"

"It's true, we've all noticed," the Alfred look-alike muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"See? C'mon dude, get over there!" Alfred was already pushing Lukas off of his stool, giving him a shove in the right direction. Lukas stumbled, nearly falling, and cast Alfred a nervous, embarrassed glance. Had he not been drunk, Arthur had no doubt that the man wouldn't have done it. But he _was_ drunk, and after only a moment's hesitation, the Norwegian turned, straightening himself upright, and marched across the bar. The men watched in shock as he approached Mathias, pausing a minute to take his beer and down it all at once. Then he slammed the glass back down on the table, and without further contemplation, yanked on the man's tie, nearly pulling him off his stool, and leaning in, met his lips.

"Whoo! Yeah!" Alfred had cheered, laughing. Apparently Mathias hadn't minded the sudden intrusion all that much, because he'd begun kissing the smaller man back, just as hungrily as he was being kissed. Alfred, seemingly impressed with himself, returned to his stool. He grinned at the rest of the table. "Alrighty then, who's next?"

Arthur felt himself tense.

Emil, the Icelandic man, looked at him. Then he looked at Francis. The words were out of his mouth before Arthur could make the connection.

"Francis and Arthur."

Alfred gave another holler, taking a sip of his drink and cackling obnoxiously.

"No way," Arthur had slurred. "There is no way in hell I'm kissing that frog."

Francis looked hurt. "But mon chéri, I know you want me," he cooed drunkenly, reaching out a hand to Arthur's face.

"Get away from me," Arthur hissed, backing away and sliding off his stool. The sudden motion had him nearly dizzy with nausea, and in an unsteady attempt to escape, he'd turned and began for the exit. His head pounded from the bar noise, and he could make out Alfred's voice in the distance, annoying as ever.

"Come on, dude! It's just a game! You gotta kiss ___someone_!"

Somehow Arthur found his way outside, pushing through the doors and leaving Alfred to his useless urging. He paused mid-step, the cool air immediately catching him off guard as his headache lifted and the churning in his stomach slowed. He was still drunk, of course, but at least he could have his thoughts to himself, now that the clashing of noises had dulled to a more manageable background track.

Arthur sat on the curb, running a hand through his hair and trying to banish from his mind the thought of kissing that twat, Francis. The worst part was that, drunk or not, the Frenchman probably would've gone through with it, had Arthur not left when he did. He shuddered in disgust.

"Rough night, Eyebrows?"

Arthur had looked up, noticing just then that he wasn't alone. Leaning against the brick wall, amused smile on his pale lips, was a tall man in dark jeans and a black button-up coat. His crimson eyes, shining with vigour even in the dull light, watched Arthur curiously.

"What do you want?" Arthur asked, rising.

Gilbert laughed, a ridiculous noise that only he could pull off. "It was only common courtesy, Brit. You seem tense."

Arthur took a few steps toward the other man, his legs shaky. "That's complete bollocks."

Gilbert waited as Arthur joined him, leaning against the wall. "You sure?" he prodded.

Arthur sighed. "Oh, it's just Alfred and his stupid games. I can't believe him! I've given him nothing but good advice and discipline throughout his life, but it seems I've failed. He's so obnoxious. And after all I've done for him, I expect a bit more respect! Oh, hey, that rhymed. Expect respect. It could be a haiku, couldn't it?"

Gilbert chuckled. "Um, no, I don't think so. Aren't you the one who's obsessed with grammar? You're a bit of a loser, that way. Unlike me."

"That had nothing to do with grammar," Arthur said, ignoring the insult. "But that's not the point. The point is Alfred and his stupid game. It wasn't even a game, really. He and the others at our table was singling out people, pressuring them to kiss one another."

"And you refused?"

"Well, I—"  
"You're such a daisy-cutter!"

Arthur glared at him. "I am not!"

"Are so."

"Am not!"

"Are so. Who was it?"

Arthur snorted. "Francis."

Gilbert sucked in a breath through his teeth, holding back laughter. He obviously found the whole thing hysterical.

Arthur gave a sound of frustration. "You know what, never mind. This is ridiculous. Why am I even telling you?"

Arthur pushed himself away from the wall, about to leave.

Gilbert caught his sleeve. "Wait," he said.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What do you want?"

"You lost the game, right?"

Arthur glowered at him. "Well Alfred said I 'had to kiss ___someone_', but never took part in it, so I suppose I lost. I wouldn't kiss Francis if my life depended on it. I'm the United bloody Kingdom, after all! Why? Would you have done it?"

Gilbert thought a moment. "No."

"See? That's exactly what—"

"But I'd kiss you."

Arthur stared at him. "Are you drunk?"

Gilbert didn't seem to know. "Probably?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well I don't want to kiss anyone tonight. I'm going back to the hotel."

Gilbert pondered a moment. "I'll walk with you...I should turn in as well. It won't be awesome if I pass out on the sidewalk."

Arthur had already started down the pavement, pausing to wait for Gilbert. The Prussian walked slightly unsteadily, a sure sign that he probably was drunk. Arthur wasn't surprised.

They made their way to the hotel, the sleeves of their jackets brushing as they walked, closer than normal. When they arrived at the lobby, noses cold from the air outside, Arthur headed for the elevator. Gilbert followed quietly.

"What floor are you on?" Arthur asked, stepping into the lift and hitting the button to his own floor. After several seconds, he looked up impatiently.

"Gilbert, what floor are you—"

Suddenly the silver-haired man was upon him, pushing him against the inside wall and pressing his lips to Arthur's. The Brit's eyes widened, and he struggled against Gilbert, but the taller man merely pinned his arms to the wall. He opened his mouth to holler, although in an instant he was invaded by Gilbert's tongue and was forced to battle for control.

"Mmgghhh," Arthur tried to argue, but it was no use against the other man.

Gilbert pressed himself closer, ignoring the angry sounds coming from Arthur. Without warning, the Prussian's knee came up between Arthur's legs, forcing them apart. Arthur shuddered, gasping as he pulled away roughly from Gilbert's mouth.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" Arthur demanded, squirming as Gilbert's knee moved beneath him, rubbing tauntingly against his inner thigh.

Gilbert grinned, kissing Arthur again, forcefully. His hands slid lower, freeing the Englishman's arms and taking to his ass. It was a moment before Arthur realized he'd been released, but before Gilbert could realize it too, the smaller man's fist connected with his jaw. Gilbert stumbled back drunkenly, holding his face tenderly.

"Shit," Gilbert mumbled.

"Don't you ___ever_ do that again, you stupid, arrogant, fucking barbarian!" Arthur spat the words at him, not caring that everyone in the building could probably hear. "I can't ___believe_ you would do such a thing ___even after_ I told you I was uninterested in kissing ___anyone_ tonight! And furthermore, now I ___want_ to fuck you, goddammit!"

Gilbert lowered his hand from his jaw, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. The lift came to a stop then, although at first, neither of the men moved. Several moments passed and the elevator doors began to close again, when Arthur's arm came out in front of them. Then he sighed, grabbing the collar of Gilbert's coat and yanking him out of the elevator.

"Well let's get on with it, then."

Shocked, Gilbert had allowed himself to be dragged down the hallway and locked behind the door of Arthur's room.


	7. Part Seven

Arthur had awoken to find himself tucked beneath the chin of a very naked Prussian. Strong arms held him where he was, cradling his own unclothed form against the taller man's chest. He wracked his brain for any clue as to how he'd ended up here.

Shifting slightly, Arthur managed to sit up, though his head throbbed. Caught too deep in sleep to notice, Gilbert's arms fell away limply. Arthur studied him, his shoulders, even breathing, defined jawline—the bruise there raising slight inquiry. His eyes lingered on the man's slightly opened mouth—those dreadfully sharp teeth—and upon examining himself, wished he could deny that the marks on his collarbone resembled that of bitemarks.

Exhaling slowly, Arthur placed a hand on Gilbert's arm, shaking him gently.

"Gilbert," he said. "Gilbert, wake up."

The other man snored softly.

Arthur slapped the Prussian's face.

Gilbert awoke immediately, red eyes shooting open as he sat upright. Arthur drew back, startled, but after a few moments of glancing around, Gilbert met his expression and grinned.

"Arthur, you slut."

"I was hoping you could tell me what happened last night," the Englishman said slowly, ignoring his comment.

Gilbert chuckled. "You know Alfred's game?"

"Yes...the kissing one...?" Arthur's eyes widened. "Oh_god_ no.."

"I think you won," Gilbert said, rather happily.

Dropping his head into his palms, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck..."

"And might I say it was a good one at that."

Arthur's head ached. "How drunk was I?" he muttered.

Gilbert pondered a moment. "Drunk enough to request I go back to my room and retrieve the riding crop in my suitcase."

Arthur glanced back up. "I did not!"

Gilbert pointed to the object in question, laying on the floor beside the bed. "You did."

Making an exasperated noise, Arthur climbed out of the bed. Gilbert watched him, that silly smile on his face.

"Don't look at me, you git."

"Like I haven't already seen you naked."

"Just look away!" Arthur snapped, waiting until Gilbert rolled his eyes and glanced the other way before moving to collect his pants. He'd just begun buttoning his shirt on when he noticed the man's eyes back on him.

"Aren't you going to get dressed?" Arthur demanded.

Gilbert exhaled, smile fading. "I think we should talk."

It had caught him off guard, but Arthur complied, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I think this was a mistake," Gilbert said.

Arthur nodded. "It was."

Gilbert scratched the back of his neck. "What do we do now?"

Arthur blinked. "Why do we need to do anything? It was a one night stand. What more is there to it?"

Gilbert shifted, lowering his eyes. "Yeah...okay."

Arthur furrowed his brow. "What?"

"It's just..." Gilbert glanced back up, looking into Arthur's eyes. "I don't exactly ___do_ one night stands."

The Englishman stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

Alfred gave him a puzzled look. Gilbert ignored it.

"I've got to go..." the Prussian said, untangling himself from the sheets and standing. Arthur quickly looked away as he gathered his clothes from across the room, dressing himself. Collecting his shoes and coat, Gilbert glanced at Arthur as he rose from the bed. The blond moved to the door, hands in his pockets and hair dishevelled. He looked up at Gilbert.

"See you around...?" Arthur said slowly.

Gilbert nodded, opening the door. "Yeah...see you."

He left without another word.

* * *

They'd returned to their own lives after that; Gilbert back to his brother, Ludwig's house, and Arthur back to his little apartment. Things were as they had been before, and Arthur didn't think twice about that night in New York. Although as time passed, he began to feel...off. The red coffee mug—his favourite—began to make him sad, though he couldn't imagine why. The untouched side of his king-sized bed bothered him, nearly to the point where he considered getting a smaller one, more suited for one person.

It took several weeks of this before Arthur came to realize he was rather lonely. He couldn't call Alfred—he'd been, surprisingly, busy with work, and Francis was, well, not the kind of company he wanted. So who did that leave? It was during this time that Arthur not only realized how lonely he was, but also that he didn't have many friends. And it was the bitterness of this that caused him to begin getting out of the house more.

He learned several things from this decision. Bars were lonely, he discovered, no matter how drunk you were. Seeing a movie by yourself, especially one you hadn't the least amount of interest in, was just as bad. Yoga was stupid, as was a website he found on ___The 44 Best Places to Meet Eligible Men_, and dinner by himself was completely out of the question. Walking was more bearable, but even then, he would dwell on the fact that he was walking alone.

He'd begun to go slightly mad when he found the note in his coat pocket. He'd been searching for his keys when instead, he pulled out the paper, about two inches in width and folded almost perfectly down the middle. Arthur examined it a moment, wondering where it had come from. He certainly hadn't put it there. Unfolding it carefully, he stared at the writing on the paper, taking a minute to reread it several times. In writing quite unlike his own was a ten-digit number, and below it, a name: Gilbert Weillschmidt.

Arthur stared at the number, shocked. How had Gilbert gotten his phone number into Arthur's pocket? Why had he put it there? How had Arthur not noticed it?

It only took a minute before he had made up his mind, quickly closing the front door and removing his shoes, heading for the phone. He wasn't sure what it was, but something about the number on the paper made him excited, eager to call it. His hands shook slightly—he didn't understand why—as he held the phone and dialed.

Gilbert answered on the third ring. "Hallo?"

It was noisy on the other end, as if other people were there. Arthur could feel himself panicking. "I...ah, G-Gilbert?"

The other man seemed confused. "Um...ja? Who else would it be?"

Arthur laughed quickly. "Of course! I mean, er..."

"Arthur?"

Arthur exhaled, nervously. He nodded, then realized Gilbert couldn't exactly see him through the phone. "Yes," he replied, feeling utterly stupid.

"Hang on," Gilbert said. The noise in the background quieted, then he spoke again. "Sorry about that. The Italians are here. Feliciano brought a karaoke mic and several beers, and now Ludwig is singing. Well, kind of."

Arthur didn't know what to say. He settled for laughing self-consciously.

Gilbert's voice lowered slightly. "What took you so long to call?"

"I...didn't find your number until today," Arthur replied, shifting.

Gilbert laughed. "Loser. So what can I do for you?"

Arthur's throat went dry. He didn't really know why he'd called in the first place. He was lonely, but what would talking to Gilbert solve? He was ten hours away, after all. "I...well..."

"Want to go for coffee? I'll buy."

Arthur blinked. Coffee? Well, he preferred tea, but that was beside the point. The bigger question was how exactly they were going to have coffee over the phone. Arthur collected his thoughts. "But...you're not exactly...here.."

"Where do you live?"

"Britannica Flats, twelfth floor, number 514. But listen, you—"

"If I catch a plane now I can be there in a few hours."

"Wait, that's not really necessar—"

"I'll see you then," Gilbert interrupted. Then he hung up, leaving Arthur to the empty dial tone and a skip in his heart.

Arthur didn't believe him. Pacing through his apartment, he was certain he'd just been made fun of. Surely Gilbert wasn't on his way there—this was just some kind of cruel joke. It must've been. So why wouldn't his excitement go away?

"Control yourself," he said aloud, stopping in place. He didn't know what to do. He considered carrying on with what he'd originally planned, going to the market and picking up some more milk. But what if Gilbert arrived while he was out? ___He's not coming, you twat_, he thought to himself.

Yet he didn't dare leave the apartment. Just in case.

He settled for cleaning, to calm his nerves. He did a load of laundry (although it was a great ordeal to carry his clothes to the laundry room on the sixth floor while rushing, in fear that if he wasn't fast enough, Gilbert would arrive, realize Arthur wasn't home, and leave). He vacuumed. He did the dishes. He even straightened up the living room, organizing the pile of newspapers on the coffee table and dusting the bookshelves.

It took him three hours and forty minutes to arrive. Arthur had finished his cleaning and was occupying the couch, starting to doze when he heard a knock from the hallway. He sat up quickly but forced himself to remain where he was—at least until he heard a second knock, upon which he couldn't wait any longer and nearly bolted for the door, ripping it open.

He honestly hadn't known what to expect. It could have been the postman, just delivering the final packages of the evening. Or maybe Arthur's neighbour, the elderly man who hated him profusely and made it a frequent thing to complain about him.

But there Gilbert was, looking tired from his flight and much like he needed a nap, but smiling nonetheless.

"Hey," he'd said, completely composed. Arthur could only imagine the stunned look on his own face. "Are we having coffee here, or...?"

"I'm out of milk," Arthur said quickly, wishing he could be as smooth as the other man. He sounded so stupid in his own ears. "But there's a cafe just down the street."

This moment, they had agreed later, had begun the start of their relationship. They'd gone to the cafe, where Gilbert had ordered a coffee and Arthur an herbal tea, and spent nearly the whole evening talking, laughing, until the shop closed for the night. And when the time had come for each of them to go to bed, Arthur offered up the spare room in his apartment, in which Gilbert only really spent about an hour before joining Arthur in his own bedroom.

This went on for several months, each one flying out to visit the other, sometimes every weekend. It became clear to Arthur that this was no longer the initial one night stand it had started out as, but he hadn't minded. In fact, he quite liked it.

If you had told Arthur earlier in his life that he would be asking Gilbert Weillschmidt to move in with him, he would have gawked at you and laughed it off, a foul name for you on his tongue—because at the time, not only wouldn't he have known the Prussian personally, but the opinion he had about him would've been rather unpleasant. But as it was, only seven months after that first night with Gilbert, that's exactly what happened, and move in he did.

Because as he'd said to Arthur, he really ___didn't_ do one night stands.

* * *

A/N: Alright, I think that's enough of their backstory. Sex comes soon, I promise.

**EDIT 1/23/13: I will not be able to finish this story at the moment, due to the fact that my old computer (with the next few chapters) has suffered a painful death. Until I'm able to rescue the files from it, this story will be taking a brief hiatus...or maybe not-so-brief, but let's hope not. My apologies.**


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